Tuesday, September 24, 2013

Talking to OTs

I participated in a Twitter chat last week with occupational therapists. It was a good experience. The OTs were extremely receptive to hearing from those of us who have worked with OTs from "the other side". Like anyone with a long history of engagement with mental health services, I had many stories to share and writing them down helped me to reflect on certain past events. Some are long enough ago that I no longer feel anything about them (except as narrative); others remain painful, especially one relating to my ongoing pain about not having (and having not prospect of having) children.

After the chat had finished, the facilitator asked whether anyone would consider writing a "Dear OTs" post for their blog. I offered to do so and was published today, along with a very poignant piece from a woman who cares for her husband with BPD.

When it went "live", I retweeted the link and shared it on Facebook. Almost immediately I deleted it from Facebook. And that made me realise that I have some subconscious barriers between the different versions of "me" that exist online. I'm very open about my anorexia but I have only linked to my blog once on Facebook. And there is very little crossover between the people with whom I interact on Twitter and my Facebook friends. I can't even rationally explain why I couldn't, today, cope with the idea that suddenly all those worlds would collide. But it did create a weird vulnerability, perhaps because my letter to the OTs had been so open and because I needed to protect myself a little bit by not sharing it to my Facebook friends.

If I'm rambling, please forgive me. It's been a long day: a morning spent in the cardiology dept of the QE, which began with high anxiety when two nurses decided to treat me like shit because I refused to let them weigh me (I had an accurate weight to tell them and a weight from different scales at a different time wearing different clothes would have set me up for a horrible day inside my head with thoughts of greed and fatness and all that incessant and debilitating ED whispering). 2 hours later, post-ECG, post consultant chat and post blood tests, I was on the way home. Back again on Friday for my echo.

And I'm tired because of things that are too internalised to write here: conversations that I've had that I want to shut out and that terrify me...